


Love At First Bite

by melanie1982



Category: NKOTB - Fandom, New Kids On The Block
Genre: AU, F/M, OldFanFic, PostedForPosterity, ThisMaySuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 07:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17824271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: This is the other old fan fic I found in my reams and reams of writing, a story I wrote about a decade ago for a 'Jon girl' friend of mine.I've changed the OFC name to protect the guilty ;)Jon is a vampire/ghost/something-or-other in this story.Ummm… yeah. That's about all I'll say about this one.





	1. Chapter 1

Nessa stirred in her sleep, still half in a dream. The sound was there again, a half-whisper, half-hiss, making every hair on her body stand to attention. How many nights had it been now? Always the same - the feeling of being watched by unseen eyes; the rustle of a cloak, the scratch of a fingernail against the window glass.. Nessa had experienced paranormal activity before, and she wasn't afraid; more.. curious. 

In the morning, the world lay silent and still, the mist being nowhere near as thick today. There was, however, a heavy sense of something important coming; even the birds were quiet, as if waiting. As the day inched towards noon, the sky was clear, bleached white by the merciless sun. Nessa sat on the porch with a glass of lemonade, dressed only in her undergarments, for there were no neighbors within peeping distance. She fanned herself, longing for the cool of evening, chiding herself for being seemingly unable to complete any household task. Her mind was wandersome; something kept tugging at her attention, like catching a glimpse just out of the corner of your eye, only to have the mystery vanish the moment you turn towards it. 

As the sun finally sank out of sight, the clouds gathered. Cracks in the parched earth opened wide like greedy moutsh, swallowing every drop of rain. Thunder rolled in the distance, and Nessa had to retreat into the house as the winds made the ancient wooden porch creak and groan. 

Nessa curled up beneath her grandma's old bedspread, reading a book and waiting for sleep. The old clock ticked idly from its perch on the mantel, and she found that focusing on the sound made her heartbeat slow down to match its rhythm. When she next opened her eyes, the candles had burned down almost to the wicks, and the low shadows of the room took on fanciful attributes. The curtains trembled in the draft as the winds whipped against the house, tearing leaves from nearby trees. Nessa heard the crack of the silent guards as they fell, pulled up by the roots and flung about like used match-sticks. How had she dozed as the storm had built? Steeling herself for what she might see, Nessa moved to the window, peering out into the darkness, but the moon was hidden by clouds, and driving rain made it impossible to survey her own front yard. 

The storm raged for hours, the house shaken as if by a giant, unseen hand, but it did not fall - a testament to the great-grandfather who had built it and built it well. As dawn broke, the winds died with a whimper, and the early sun shone through the new mist covering the sodden earth. Nessa, weary from her long watch, nonetheless dressed in haste, anxious to assess the damage to the house and the acreage beyond. The wheat field was still visible, though badly damaged, and the house and the stable had survived with only a few roof shingles torn from the former and a stable door knocked askew on the latter. Once all of the horses and other animals were accounted for, Nessa felt the tight knot in her stomach begin to unravel.

Moving past the farm proper, she made her way into the small wood beyond, heading down to the lake. She knew the path so well, on any other day she could have walked it blindfolded, but the storm had littered the trail with mud and debris. As she reached the edge of the wood, her left foot crashed into a foreign and unexpected object. Something just below the earth's surface had shifted, and Nessa dug away at the mud with both hands, eager to discover it.

There was a weighty sense of destiny unfolding as she moved the soil with swift fingers. The cold, gray-streaked marble was smooth beneath her warm palms, and within the surface of the marble was an inscription:

To a dear beloved son and brother  
Here lies Jonathan Rashleigh Knight  
May God's mercy grant him rest  
1745 - 1786

Nessa was on all fours in the mud, rubbing away dirt and rubble. The more she removed, the more she felt certain that this was no ordinary gravestone. The dimensions were too grand and the material too fine. Plunging her hands into the mire wrist-deep, Nessa felt more solid stone. Her heart pounded as she accepted the obvious: She was sitting atop a submerged mausoleum.

"A mausoleum," she said aloud, feeling foolish as she did so. "On my property, property which has been in my family for at least four generations." Why would anyone hide such a thing under all this earth?, she wondered. Snippets of her grandma's wile tales came to mind, stories of a beautiful, pale-faced man who wandered these woods singing mournfully, and who would disappear into the mist at the water's edge. Nessa had long ago surmised that Nana told such stories to keep the grandchildren from sneaking out of bed or playing in the woods after dark, but, in an instant, in half a breath, she decided that there must be at least some small possibility of the stories being true. Tracing the deep inscription with her fingertips, a curious heat began to flow in her veins, as if her touch had broken a spell or brought back to life something long since dead.

Nessa was reluctant to leave, but promised herself she would return at nightfall to see if there was such a man living - or existing - on her property, a man whose very remains had been buried deeper than her lonely heart could imagine.


	2. Chapter 2

The night was clear and cool, and Nessa held her shawl tightly with one hand. In her other hand she bore a lantern, and in the bag at her waist she had concealed bread roll, a flask of milk, and a small wooden cross. Kneeling down at tracing the inscription again, the curious heat felt stronger than before.

A breeze stirred the branches of the weeping willow, and the motion seemed like a beckoning, urging Nessa to come and sit on the bench at the water's edge. The ripples on the lake's surface shimmered in moonlight, and Nessa sat up very straight, waiting. When she closed her eyes, the leaves seemed to whisper, and within the multitude of hushed words came a voice, clearer than the rest.

"Are you not afraid?"

It was a man's voice, gentle, concerned, curious. Nessa realized that the voice was without a physical body - at least, one visible to her eyes - and that she needed only to answer within her own mind.

"No, I am not afraid. This is MY home now."

She hoped this did not seem rude or proud; she sensed amusement in his answer.

"Whom do you seek?"

Nessa swallowed hard. "I seek the man of legend, the one whom I was told wanders these words." There was a brief silence, shimmering with tension.

"I am the man."

Nessa nodded, accepting this. 

"What do you wish to know?," came the voice again, and she sensed a hint of sadness now.

"I.. May I ask you your name? Who are you, really? May I see you?"

There was a soft chuckle, but it sounded odd, as if he had not laughed in a great many years. "If you want my presence, you must summon me. Call my name; it is as it is written."

Nessa folded her hands in her lap, clearing her throat and taking a deep breath in through the nose. "Jonathan Rashleigh Knight, come forth. Please," she added, blushing a little, though she couldn't articulate why. There was a rush of wind behind her, and then she sensed a man's presence approaching slowly before standing beside her. Nessa stood to face him, and no nightmare, no hellish vision, could have shocked her more than his appearance.

He was tall; well-dressed, though the fashion was decidedly of another time, the time in which he had lived - and died. His hair was blacker than the night of the storm, and his face was pale, but not with the pallor of death - more as a man who had not seen the sun in a very long time. Nessa was staring, and she couldn't help herself. He was unlike any man she had ever seen, better than a dream.. He was, in a word, beautiful.

The man seemed to be taking her in, though she couldn't glean his opinion of her from the look on his face. Seeming to sense her approval of him, he smiled an impossibly captivating smile, one of boyish innocence, but too well-practiced to be so. "Do I look well enough, my lady?," he teased, clearly pleased with his effect on her. 

Nessa stammered. "Yes. I mean.. ah.."

Jonathan gestured for her to sit down, and she sank to the bench with rather more force and less grace than she had intended. He joined her, and Nessa realized she ought to introduce herself.

"My name is Nessa Fitzgerald," she offered, and as she put out her hand in greeting, he arched one brow in surprise. 

"Ah. Is it the fashion these days for women to shake hands?"

Nessa blushed again, resting her hand in her lap.

"What manner of man are you?"

He sighed. "I am.. myself. That is to say, I'm not sure. I only know that, where my family believed me dead, I was not so - at least, not completely. They buried me here - ", Jon gestured towards the mausoleum - "but I found myself wandering the woods. I never *chose* this, never meant to upset anyone or go against the natural order of things. In time, they buried the structure as best they could. I managed to keep myself hidden from them, and each time someone in my family died, I would visit their grave a few times to see if anyone else was.. like me." Jonathan looked out at the water as if seeing something there, something Nessa could not discern.

After a moment, he went on. "But none of them ever came back as I did."

Her heart ached for him. "How long have you been alone?"

He considered this. "One hundred and ten years."

Nessa did the mental math, finding it fit with the date on the stone. "Was there no one to help you? No one to talk to?"

He shook his head no, and Nessa knew at once that she simply must help him, somehow, no matter the cost.

Nessa's stomach growled, seeming all the louder in the stillness of the night. He asked if she had eaten, smiling, "It's alright. I don't mind," then gesturing towards her bag. As she retrieved the bread roll, Jon continued, "Though I must ask - do people always carry crosses with their supper, or is it a personal habit known only to yourself?"

She gasped, wondering how he could know of the cross' proximity, and something passed between them, an understanding that this man - or whatever he was - could read her mind, could know her deepest thoughts as well as she herself knew them. That notion both terrified and thrilled her. Nessa finished a mouthful before speaking.

"So. I have no secrets from you, then?"

Jon smiled sheepishly. "I see what you allow me to see. I would never violate your privacy by reading you without your blessing, but you were so .. unguarded for a moment, and your mind wandered to the cross you carry." Nessa relaxed, but only a little.

He seemed so fascinated watching her eat. She offered to share, though she knew, somehow, that he could not partake. The moon above was bright and full, though Nessa was hardly apt to look at it now, given present company.

Finishing her meal, dusting the crumbs from her lap onto the ground, she looked at him, inviting her to read her thoughts. Jonathan cleared his throat before answering aloud, just to be sure, to emphasize his sincerity; she must believe him..

"I don't need to drink blood, although I am stronger and healthier when I do so. I ask permission before I feed, and I don't.." Here, he faltered. "I don't take more than they can bear."

The conversation lasted well into the night, until the mist hung heavy over the lake, signaling dawn's approach. "You are cold and tired," Jon offered, and it was true.

Nessa was reluctant to leave. "I haven't had such a good friend since - well, I don't believe I have ever had such a good friend, not since Nana.." 

Jon sought to reassure her. "We can talk again, after sundown." Glancing over his shoulder at the horizon, he rushed on - "but, please, don't fall ill on my account. Go back to your home; rest. Please."

He rose to his feet, offering her his hand. Her legs were stiff from sitting for so long, and she was a little unsteady on her feet. How could so many hours have passed so swiftly? 

"Will you come to the house?," Nessa blurted out before she could stop herself.

Jonathan laughed. "Is it proper for me to call on you?"

She considered the idea for a moment. "Our circumstances are quite extraordinary. I am sure it is proper, for me, at least. I have never been much for societal mores," Nessa amended.

He was relieved, and he was smiling at her with eyes unlike anything the world had ever seen. Inside, her heart leapt for joy, filled with an emotion she could not name, yet did not question.

"I will come to you tonight," he assured her, squeezing her hand. She blinked, and he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

That night, she waited for him in the parlor, keeping the lights low so as not to hurt his eyes. The hall clock chimed ten, and when it had stopped, she heard a faint scratching sound, followed by the rustle of a cloak and a footstep at the door. 

"Jonathan," she breathed, and rushed to open the latch. He looked even more beautiful than before, though it seemed impossible. When he hesitated, Nessa shook herself from her reverie. "Please, come in," she said, her voice too low, almost sultry, and at that invitation, Jonathan stepped carefully over the threshold, looking as though he expected some calamity to befall him as he entered the house. He looked around, taking it all in as Nessa closed the door behind him.

They sat in separate chairs facing one another, the fire casting flickering shadows at their feet. She felt as if she knew him already, and yet could not recall but the scantest of details from their previous conversation. Beneath it all, the sense of knowing and the sense of struggling to remember, there lay the feeling that she could spend forever with him and never tire of his company. Such a strange situation in which to find oneself, and yet they conversed so easily, so freely..

"Will you be this way forever? Will you wander the woods til the end of the world?," Nessa wanted to know.

Jonathan seemed thoughtful, taking his time to consider her questions. As the silence stretched, Nessa became mildly alarmed.

"What is it?"

He began. "There is a hope of being cured - at least, I have heard legends of it - but I must not burden you with all that." The words had come in somewhat of a rush, and Nessa's reply was in kind.

"I would do all that I could to help you." She had shocked herself with the power of her own emotions; perhaps she had lived alone for too long, starved for company, for friendly interaction.. It was the only explanation she could fathom, unless she had fallen under some sort of spell.

Jon held her gaze. "I don't doubt that you would, but it is a high price for you to pay. A very high price indeed."

Nessa desperately wanted him to explain, but decided not to press the matter for now. She changed the subject, but his face remained serious, almost sad, and she so wished she could lift his spirits.

Just after midnight, Jonathan sat up ram-rod straight, listening intently to sounds Nessa could not hear. Afraid to speak aloud, she asked him, within her mind, what he heard. He showed her a mental image of a group of men from the town, carrying lanterns and vials of holy water, rosary beads and other assorted talismans.

Jon replied to her wordlessly, "I must leave now. Please understand."

Until that moment, Nessa had never been truly frightened in his presence. The panic in his mind and in his demeanor sent chills down the whole of her body. Still speaking in silence, she asked, "Where will you go? Will you come back again?"

"When it is safe," he promised, though it was abrupt. In a rush of wind, he was gone. Moments later, the group was at Nessa's door. She opened it to face them, and the leader of the posse eyed her suspiciously.

"You expecting callers at this late hour?," the man probed disapprovingly, mentally noting that Nessa was dressed for company rather than for bed, and seeing the candles still lit in the parlor and beyond. A woman living alone, especially at a marriageable age, had always generated speculation and a dash of ill will, and Nessa knew it well.

"Would you prefer I make a habit of opening the door in the altogether?," she said warmly, as though she might consider the notion if it won the crowd's vote. In her mind, Nessa could hear Jon's laugh, distant but distinct.

The men filed into her home, searching as Nessa stood by, quietly seething with anger but maintaining a look of innocence. She asked no questions and voiced no protests, and the majority of the townsmen were respectful, placing things back where they belonged after satisfying themselves that what they sought was not tucked beneath a cushion or hiding under the bedclothes. The instigator, Thomas Morecomb, addressed her once more.

"We are searching for - that is, there have been reports spreading through the town about a strange man in these parts. Folks across the lake in Libertyville said they seen him last night at the edge of your property." The emphasis on 'your', and the evident disdain therein, was not lost on Nessa. The Morecombs had offered several times to buy her out, and her family before her, but Nessa would not budge any more than her ancestors had. She blinked, seemingly astonished, and the pig of a man softened slightly, pitying her natural inferior state as a woman.

"Now, don't you get to frettin,' miss. We'll find him and deal with him when we do. We're going to search those woods if it takes all night."

Upon hearing his words, Nessa wished he had insulted her or some other such thing, given her some excuse to react. They must not find his grave, she thought; the sudden re-emergence of it would be the spark to light the tinderbox of the town's superstitious hysteria. Nessa placed a hand on the back of a chair to steady herself.

"Well, then," she said proudly, "it is *my* wood, and I am dressed, as you noted. I will not give you permission to search without my presence."

His eyes narrowed at her, though his thin lips curled into a tight smile. Morecomb knew he was already beyond the bounds of decency and well into deep water legally, though he prayed Nessa knew nothing of such matters. He had no right to search her home or her woods, and she was being as close to cooperative as a Fitzgerald was likely to get.

"Very well. I'll assign two of my men to walk with you - one in front and one behind. Let's go, fellas."

Nessa walked slowly, stalling for time. The men fidgeted with their trinkets, cursing the cold and the mist which seemed to have rolled in off of the lake just as they had arrived at her home. Nessa did not speak, though she was calling for Jon inside her mind. He did not answer, and she wondered if he would ever again bless her with his sweet voice. Could he hear her? What did these men expect to find? What would happen if they caught him?

As the group reached the edge of the property, Nessa's heart trembled, but, to her amazement, there was no sign of the grave. Morecomb was standing in the very spot where it had been only the night before, and Nessa began to shake with anger at the thought of Thomas' muddy boots trampling upon such a sacred site. Jonathan's name, his face, his whole self had become so precious to her in the short time since they'd met; he seemed to belong to her, a part of her home, a part of the landscape. She felt as if he had been kept here for her in some way, waitign for her, just as she had been searching and waiting for a new purpose to manifest in her life.

"Will you be draining the lake as well?," she quipped, and one of the goons scowled at her. 

"No," Thomas said. "Not tonight, leastways."

Nessa stood her ground. In her mind's eye, she saw Jonathan covering the grave with earth with supernatural strength and speed, then scattering leaves over the top of it. She knew that he was safe - for now.

"Come on, miss, let's get you back home. Fellas, we're done for tonight. Get the word out that Miss Fitzgerald was cooperative, and we found nothin.'" He sounded almost sorry, though whether it was regret over not finding anything, or regret over her not causing a scene, Nessa couldn't be sure.

As the group left, Nessa locked the door and crawled into bed. In her dreams, she saw strange visions of men and women melding into one another, of sharp fangs and crimson blood, but there was a sweetness, a rightness about it all, and she was not afraid.


	4. Chapter 4

Several nights passed, and Nessa had not heard his voice again. Sometimes she felt as if he were watching, listening from a distance, but she couldn't be sure. The strange night noises had disappeared when Jonathan did, and the silence terrified her more than any ghoulish sound ever could.

Her dreams were so graphic, visions of a man grabbing a woman into a passionate embrace, their kisses and caresses blending into bites as the lovers devoured one another. The man's pale face would flush pink with new life as the woman drew pale and almost lifeless. Nessa woke in a sweat of desire just past midnight, finding one hand clutching her pillow, while the other was clamped between her thighs, touching the place no man had ever seen, the place she tried hard to ignore even as her body screamed for attention. 

Nessa went to the basin to wash her hands, blushing and scolding herself. A small voice told her that she had done nothing wrong, that what she was feeling was normal, but she bit back tears. How could a union between a living woman and a dead man ever be 'normal'?

She opened the window onto the porch roof, and he was there, his eyes deep pools full of calm, radiant love. Nessa felt no fear, only mild surprise. Her body relaxed for the first time in days, knowing for certain that he was safe, that any of Morecomb or the others' searches had found nothing.. "It's you," she sighed, feeling foolish.

"It's me," Jon affirmed, offering himself to her just as he was, which was more than enough.

"Where did you go? How have you - no. It doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you're back."

Jon leaned his forehead against hers, breathing her air, feeling warmer than he knew possible. "I've missed you," he confessed at the same time as Nessa did. He started to apologize for not using the door, but she wouldn't have it.

"It's alright. Please, come in. And this time.. This time, tell me everything." 

Jon knew Nessa wasn't seeking the details of his escape or of his hiding out. She wanted to know the legends, the barest glimmer of a hope that he could be saved once and for all.

"Please, Jonathan."

His ancient heart groaned within his chest, as if trying to flutter back to life.

Nessa moved back to allow him space to enter, and she offered him teh only chair in the room while she sat facing him from the foot of the bed. He seemed nervous, unable to look Nessa in the eye.

"Nessa.. I care a great deal for you. I don't wish to offend you or alarm you."

He needed further reassurance, which she readily offered. "I want to understand. I want to help. Tell me all."

Jon began, with difficulty. "What do you know of the nature of - that is, a man and a woman, the way that they - ah.."

Nessa blushed. "I know something of the theory, the.. mechanics. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes. There is a chance - I have never had proof - that if a man in my condition finds a woman to love him, and to.. have him in that way, there is a hope of the condition being reversed."

She stared at her hands, folded in her lap. One of those hands had strayed shortly before Jon's return, and she felt the weight of the shame in his presence. The shame was soon overridden by a powerful, defiant desire, a surge racing through her, and she wondered how it was that she managed to stay still. Nessa wanted to be in his arms, to let him have her completely, as no man ever had. Closing her eyes, Nessa focused on communicating with him.

"Is that all?," she queried.

"No. The woman must let the man feed on her; it is the beginning of the healing. He has to take enough to bring her to the point of death, and the combined exchange of the life-force is the cure. It may not work, Nessa, and I can not ask you to try it. It could cost you your life."

Something insider her knew that every word he had spoken was true, that the notion held the equal possibility of either bliss or disaster. She had almost made up her mind, but a few questions remained.

"And if you were to try this, and see that it had not cured you - what then? Would you make the woman like yourself, or would you watch her die?" Nessa spoke of a hypothetical woman, even as the very idea of another giving herself to her beloved threatened to tear her in two. A flash of blue filled her mind, the intensity of his sorrow at her very line of thought. 

Jon refused to speak in the abstract now. "I could not ask you to be damned along with me, never living, merely existing. I could never be so cruel, Nessa."

"But it is possible? If the attempt failed, could you make me like yourself?"

He conceded that it was so.

Nessa went to him. "I give you permission to read me completely. I want to give myself to you. Will you.. Will you have me?"

His eyes shimmered with silver tears as the magnitude of her sacrifice. Rising to embrace her, he buried his face in her hair. It smelled of lavender soap, of hearth-fires and sunlight, and, above all, of life. "Nessa.. My Nessa.. Sweet angel of mercy.." And he pulled away to look at her. "I've kept this with me through all the years - " Nessa watched as Jonathan retrieved from within the folds of his cloak a silver band, set with a beautiful deep red garnet between two flawless diamonds - "and now I know why. I want you to wear this, always. I know we can not 'marry' in the world's sense, but, with this ring, I pledge my eternal devotion to you."

Nessa wept as he held the ring in his hand. "I will wear it always." As he placed the band upon her finger, they embraced again.


	5. Chapter 5

The first kiss was like silk on velvet, smooth and cool, but then his body began to warm to her. Jon's hands rested just above Nessa's hips, and she opened her mouth to his seeking tongue, the blood roaring in her ears. He tasted clean and sweet, and in his mind he warned her that there would be some measure of pain along with the pleasure. A slight sting on the tip of her tongue, and she became aware of a salty, metallic tang as Jon sucked the wound. It was an unusual sensation, but she had no context, no basis of comparison for it.

Nessa felt dizzy, but his strong arms held her up. The man was slow and thorough; a second sting closed the wound, and he continued to kiss her, tugging gently on each lip in turn, making the breath catch in her throat. He licked and teased, enticing her mouth, inflaming her body; she wanted to beg him for more, but wasn't quite sure how to proceed.

"Please trust me." The words crept into her ear before he kissed her cheek, making the hair on her neck stand up. 

"I do.." Nessa surrendered her body to him then, as well as her soul. He moved them backwards towards the bed, laying her down before undoing his cloak at the neck and letting it drop to the floor. Nessa felt Jon's mouth close around her earlobe, and she ran her hands through his hair, relishing the feel of his teeth and tongue on her tender skin. Nessa felt the sting again, followed by sucking pressure, before a second sting staunched the wound.

There was no time or space for what-ifs. She had to let go, to live in the moment. Jon's lips were stained with her own essence, dallying at her mouth before journeying to her neck. He nuzzled her skin, smelling the perfume of her love, as well as the blood pulsing through her veins. Nessa braced herself for the bite, but he was licking and sucking without a mark, so sweetly, so gently.. "Soon," he promised.

His hands on her breasts made her moan, her nipples betraying her need beneath his touch. Jon caressed her through her clothes until she was itching to be free of them, the feel the rough skin of his palms on her smooth chest. He stroked her slowly, watching her face as he introduced her to new sensations. His eyes burned, raw with hunger, and yet Nessa was not afraid. The pads of his thumbs dragging over her nipples again and again made her whimper, and when those thumbs joined with his fingers to pinch and roll, she cried out.

Jonathan's mouth fastened to one aching point, his rigid tongue sending pleasure-shocks all through her. The sting penetrated through the layer of fabric, and this time Nessa called his name as Jon fed from her.

Pausing a moment to push her night-dress up and out of his way, Jon landed kisses upon her belly, making her squirm beneath the feathery touch. His hard tongue entered her navel, a poor mimicking of the coming act, and she was burning for him, burning as with fever, ready to die if only he would undress her completely. The nightdress was soon removed; though Nessa could not be certain how it had happened, she was too grateful to care. 

The room was spinning as skilled fingertips crept along her thighs, claiming them for himself. Jon's mouth on her inner thigh made Nessa moan again, afraid to look, to see what he was doing or what he might do, even as her mind tried to formulate the probable destination. His fingers migrated to the heat between her legs, stroking gently among the delicate folds, and Nessa had never dreamed how that might feel, had never imagined the sensations awaiting her. She barely registered his mouth's sting upon her thigh, for then his hand had found a wondrous, secret place, exploring in a rhythm sure to end in her destruction. What other end could there be for something so intense?

The man licked his fingertips, then moved in closer, taking sustenance directly from the source. Nessa could not remain still under such an assault, and it took his super-human strength to hold her in place as his tongue found her sensitive pearl again and again in rapid-fire strokes. Nessa could not see, could not think or breathe, and as Jon's finger slid within her, Nessa burst into a shower of stars, red light flashing behind her eyelids as she held them tightly shut. 

Jon could read her mind, the image of himself on top of her, driving into her cunt again and again, and he knew he had to give her one final chance to rescind her offer. "Are you sure, my love?"

She repeated the image, and Jonathan stood back, undressing for her as she watched. "I have searched for you.. I've traveled farther than you can imagine, for longer than you can know, crying over every missed sunset.. I've waited for over a century for this moment, this chance at happiness.. I love you."

She kissed him to stop the tears, pulling him down to her trembling form. Nessa glanced over at the mirror, noticing for the first time that Jonathan had no reflection. As he began to nudge her entrance, she turned to face him, willing herself to open. Jon entered slowly, stretching her with the most exquisite pain, her body still contracting every few seconds. Another kiss brought a fresh sting, and Nessa welcomed it, willing Jon to move, to finish what he had begun. 

His movements were sure, his breath now hot on her skin. Seeing his face, lost in pleasure, made her tingle from head to toe. Another glance at the mirror showed Nessa that Jon was there, a faint shadow moving on top of her naked body. Was the cure working?

Nessa's hands moved to his lower back, urging him to go harder, deeper. Jon clenched his teeth, shuddering against the sweet grip of her body. He asked if she was ready, and she affirmed. In the next instant, teeth sank deeply into her neck. The pressure was intense and pleasurable, while the wounds were small and precise. Nessa felt the blood move from her body to his like liquid fire, felt him thrusting more insistently within her. She told herself to trust, to believe, and not to fear, her hips rising to meet his movements.

As Nessa looked at the mirror again, she could see Jon as a solid, albeit nebulous, form. He felt so very alive, so very real, and Nessa sensed the tension inside of him, building and building until it must be released. She urged him to keep on, to let go, the next glance at the mirror showing her lover in full color, his tan form powering in and out between her thighs, complete except for a blank space where his face should be.

Jon moved faster now, taking her full strength, and Nessa felt her own release begin just as Jon withdrew his fangs from her neck. She watched him let go, his face shining with a brilliant white light, eyes wet with gratitude. That moment, live or die, was everything to her. Nessa felt herself slipping away, and then there was nothing, nothing but darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

Morning had broken. Nessa had neglected to close the curtain, and sunlight was now streaming in, showing billions of dust particles dancing in the still air. "I'm alive," she thought to herself, her hand moving instinctively to her neck. There was no mark, no scar; as if.. as if the night before had never happened.

Her heart froze within her chest as she realized what dawn meant. Turning over in her bed, she found him there, smiling up at her from beneath tussled hair. 

"Good morning," he said, and it sounded odd - but then, he hadn't been able to see morning for over a century. Nessa kissed him, pinching him to be certain that he was real.

"Ow!," he laughed, pinching her right back.

"Does this mean.. you can stay with me.. always?" 

He kissed her hand, turning her ring this way and that in the light. "Yes, Nessa. Always, always and forever."

They kissed again, and she knew that forever just might be long enough.


End file.
